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"It's about time you were home." A random babble? An anecdote? A paintstaking recount of the days events? A single moment, infused with meaning and countless adjectives and stretched far beyond its original shelf-life? A poem? (not likely) A diatribe against some person or thing or perceived obstruction to the living of my life? A confession of my fears? my sins? my embarassments? my guilty pleasures? my character flaws? the things I did when I was 12? How do I resolve to approach today's diary entry? A list of questions designed to fulfill the perceived yet unsubstantiated obligation (need?) to maintain a diary, rather than sharing all of the intense but pleasant feelings emanating somewhere from the center of my universe? A cat story? Yes. I arrived home from work around 5:40. No sooner had I pushed open the front door at the bottom of the stairs than I heard her call out: "Meow?" (Is that you?) "Yes, it's me." (Meow.) |
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